The Zombie is Toast

I am told I cannot go trick or treating because it's against, The Rules. We are eating spaghetti bolognese made almost entirely of giant marrow, apart from the spaghetti. It is horrible.
'You might upset some old people,' says Mum because she is very keen on old people.
'Granpa Jack is old and he's taking a group of old people out to get treats.'
'He is not!' shouts Dad.
'He is,' I say 'and he says they're all going to be demons and wear red pants and tights.' Mum gives a little scream. 'AND, Dexter is going with his dad, Mr Dooley and he's dressing up as a gut eating zombie,' I inform them as I suck up one piece of spaghetti at a time. Mum gives Dad a look across the table. 'It's true' I say. I can sense them wobbling now under the power of my fantastic arguing. 'Furthermore, (their eyes widen with wonderment at my cleverness, I am on a roll) Mr Dooley is going to collect as many sweets as he can so that he can donate them to the school tuck shop.' Wait for it.
'There isn't a school tuck shop,' says Dad. 'For the very good reason that all your teeth will drop out.'
I pause and savour the moment. Here we go. 'There will be when he becomes school governor.'


So, I am Count Wilfredo complete with excellent 75p fangs, black cloak from Tesco and a giant bucket for snatching all the sweets from under the nose of the Dooley zombie. Mum is a ghost. She found one of my old sheets and cut eyeholes out. She didn't notice the spiderman on the back and I haven't told her.
Outside, Mum strides down the High St. She is walking as though she is wearing a business suit.
'We'll just call on people we know,' she says, 'then we won't alarm the elderly. Tuck shop indeed!' she adds. She is a very brisk ghost, flapping her arms and twirling round all the time and is already surprising all the baby children out with their responsible adults. 'Sorry didn't see you there!' she tries to pick up one of the children she has knocked over.
'Monster!' says its parent which is not technically correct.
'Better keep an eye out for Mr Dooley,' Mum says, rushing away from the scene of the crime, ' - don't want him hogging all the sweets!' She is trying to sound jolly about sweets now which is a dead giveaway. She wants his blood.
I spot Dexter who is bandaged up to his eyeballs in loo roll.
'How many sweets have you got then?' I yell.
'Not quite enough for a school tuck shop,' shouts Dexter.
'Nearly there, though!' yells the impressive zombie next to him. 'Bet even your mad parents will vote for me when they hear about how much free stuff I've got for the school.'
He holds up a bulging bin bag.
'Er, maybe,' I say. Mum sidles up behind me.
'Bet your Mum will spit bricks when she hears about this, eh?' he yells.
'Er ...' I er.
'Better than her DISGUSTING organic veg crud she makes for all those poor old people ...'
'Um ...'
'They feed it to their cats! And even the cats won't eat it! Ha!'
'Well ...'
'Aghhhhhhhh!' The spiderman ghost flies past me.
The zombie is toast.



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